ch the
frail bulwark it had cost me such trouble and toil to construct. I was
so fearful of this at first, that I humbled myself to intimate to him, in
private, my apprehensions of Arthur's proneness to these excesses, and to
express a hope that he would not encourage it. He was pleased with this
mark of confidence, and certainly did not betray it. On that and every
subsequent occasion his presence served rather as a check upon his host,
than an incitement to further acts of intemperance; and he always
succeeded in bringing him from the dining-room in good time, and in
tolerably good condition; for if Arthur disregarded such intimations as
'Well, I must not detain you from your lady,' or 'We must not forget that
Mrs. Huntingdon is alone,' he would insist upon leaving the table
himself, to join me, and his host, however unwillingly, was obliged to
follow.

Hence I learned to welcome Mr. Hargrave as a real friend to the family, a
harmless companion for Arthur, to cheer his spirits and preserve him from
the tedium of absolute idleness and a total isolation from all society
but mine, and a useful ally to me. I could not but feel grateful to him
under such circumstances; and I did not scruple to acknowledge my
obligation on the first convenient opportunity; yet, as I did so, my
heart whispered all was not right, and brought a glow to my face, which
he heightened by his steady, serious gaze, while, by his manner of
receiving those acknowledgments, he more than doubled my misgivings. His
high delight at being able to serve me was chastened by sympathy for me
and commiseration for himself--about, I know not what, for I would not
stay to inquire, or suffer him to unburden his sorrows to me. His sighs
and intimations of suppressed affliction seemed to come from a full
heart; but either he must contrive to retain them within it, or breathe
them forth in other ears than mine: there was enough of confidence
between us already. It seemed wrong that there should exist a secret
understanding between my husband's friend and me, unknown to him, of
which he was the object. But my after-thought was, 'If it is wrong,
surely Arthur's is the fault, not mine.'

And indeed I know not whether, at the time, it was not for him rather
than myself that I blushed; for, since he and I are one, I so identify
myself with him, that I feel his degradation, his failings, and
transgressions as my own: I blush for him, I fear for him; I repent for